


Trust

by Kantrips



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, One Shot, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26543377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantrips/pseuds/Kantrips
Summary: When Cullen is wounded in the field, aid comes from an unexpected source. It proves a challenge for them both as they tentatively negotiate each other and his injuries.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Trust

Mother Giselle tutted again, in a way that was beginning to set Cullen’s teeth on edge. “The bone should be set or it may heal crookedly. And what good would you be to us then?”

The fact that she was nagging annoyed him. The fact that she was right was absolutely maddening. The pain wasn’t helping his mood either. “I’ll wait until I can see a surgeon.”

“We don’t know when that will be!” She was correct again: here in the middle of the Hinterlands it could be days until they came to a friendly settlement with a qualified surgeon available, a week on horseback if they had to travel all the way back to Haven. She was already lifting the flap of the tent when she told him, “I will ask among the mages in the camp. Perhaps there is a healer,” and had disappeared before he could object. And object he would have. Despite their fresh and tenuous alliance with the rebel mages, Cullen couldn’t help but feel an instinctive apprehension at the idea of submitting himself to one when he was already weakened. Even as he tried to swallow back involuntary misgivings, he felt his spine growing rigid and his skin prickling. It had never occurred to him that he had been avoiding healers but subconsciously he must have. Until now there had always been a surgeon on hand as an alternative. It made sense to receive aid in whatever form it came in, magical or otherwise, and yet…

He was being prejudiced, and berated himself for so quickly defaulting to distrust. He was better than this. He was better than he once had been.

The mages were their allies, and how could he expect them to trust him if he couldn’t do the same, whatever his concerns about the partnership? This was the reality now and they – _he_ would make it work for the greater good.

He shifted slightly, causing pain to ricochet down the length of his arm. And if someone could alleviate this agony then what could he do but be grateful?

The tent flap shifted and he braced, shock registering clearly on his face when the Herald entered. She froze immediately with an almost comical gasp, her expression a mirror of his. “Mother Giselle said a soldier was injured.”

“She told me there might be a healer among the rebel mages. I didn’t know you were in the area.”

“I’m not supposed to be. Small detour. Things got…complicated.”

“I see,” was all he managed in response.

Evelyn let out a laugh that sounded self-conscious to his ear. “I was not expecting you. Nor you me.”

That about summed it up. “No.”

Evelyn took a tentative step forward. “I suppose I am technically a rebel mage now. Of all my new titles that one sounds the most daring. Swashbuckling.” She let out a snort. “Rebellious? Me? I can’t get used to the notion.”

“You wouldn’t consider yourself as such?”

Avoiding the side with his injured arm, Evelyn came and sat next to him on the edge of the camp bed. It sagged so much that their thighs touched but she didn’t move away. “May I?” she asked, pointing to the bandages around his chest and torso that had been sloppily applied in hurry. He nodded as if he had a choice. His shirt had already been cut away as his arm was too damaged to be raised above his head. “No: I wouldn’t consider myself a rebel. You look doubtful,” she laughed. “I’ve always liked to test boundaries but not step over them necessarily. What about you Commander? Is there a rebellious heart beating away in there?” she asked, pointing at his chest.

“No,” he replied bluntly.

“Oh,” she said, looking chastised but with a hint of amusement as she began to unwind the bandages, leaning very close to reach around him. He could tell she was being cautious not to bump his broken arm in the process and was grateful for it. “I should have known. A stickler for the rules then. I can see your obvious distaste for dissident acts. Yes, you look quite disgusted at the thought. Well, I hope you won’t judge my new status as a rebel too harshly, given I had no choice.”

“You misunderstand me.”

“How so?”

“By implying disdain. I haven’t rebelled at times when I should have. There are situations it is appropriate, right even, to challenge tradition and authority.” Evelyn gave him a sharp look then frowned in thought, offering no response. “But I do like order,” he conceded and she smirked.

“There it is,” she said knowingly and changed the subject. “You should know I’m not actually a healer.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I just don’t want to set your expectations too high. I’m barely competent, but I know enough to ensure there is no internal bleeding, prevent permanent damage to your arm and alleviate some of the pain.”

“You do yourself a disservice. That sounds very competent to me.”

“A proper healer would have you back in the thick of battle in a couple of days. You’ll still need to take it easy for a few weeks once I’m finished.” She chuckled. “Is there even any point me saying that you?”

“I don’t plan on being ambushed again.”

“One seldom does. I suppose that will have to satisfy me then.” She paused briefly and gave him an assessing look up and down that made him nervous. “You’re very composed. Aren’t you in pain?”

“Not if I stay absolutely still,” he told her and she made a sympathetic humming sound and resumed her unwinding. “I’ve had some elfroot.”

His skin was largely exposed now and she raised an eyebrow as she surveyed the gash that ran down his shoulder and the bruising across his chest. “You look like you were kicked by the hind legs of a horse. Repeatedly.”

“It feels like I was,” he admitted.

Evelyn finally pulled away the last of the bandages and put them to one side. “Were they bandaging you or draping a mannequin for a gown? These were nowhere near tight enough to compress that cut.”

“We had competing priorities. Time was scarce.”

“So I heard.” She pushed her braid back over her shoulder and even underneath the waxy scent of the damp canvas tent, the horse sweat and the mud, he briefly caught the light, floral smell of her hair. “A lot of refugees owe you their lives. As I understand it was a very fortunate and timely intervention from Inquisition soldiers. Though I had no idea you were amongst them.”

“I was accompanying fresh recruits to their first posting. Very fresh recruits. They’ve had basic training but have seen no action.” He shook his head slightly and corrected himself: “They _hadn’t_ seen any action.”

A group of exhausted refugees had stumbled into view, halting their progress. The plan had been for the soldiers to press on to their destination without stopping for another night, but seeing the fragile condition of the civilians, Cullen elected to stop early and camp with them as a precaution against wildlife or bandits. They were to detour the following morning and see them to the next friendly farmstead before resuming their route to the Inquisition outpost. It was a small group of farming folk, with thin-legged elderly leaning heavily on sticks and women clutching babies wailing with hunger amongst them. They had no food, no weapons and many were without cloaks. Warring mages and templars had used their small cluster of cottages as cover for a battle, and all the families could do was evacuate to watch their homes and livelihoods burn from a distance.

Evidently the templar party had been in close pursuit, perhaps mistaking the villagers for mages fleeing the combat. And Cullen, who was teased incessantly for apparently never taking his armour off, had just removed his greaves and chest plate to cut deadwood for a fire to warm the shivering children. His sword at least, was still at his belt when the enemy descended upon them, and he was proud to see his soldiers, many of them unblooded, rally immediately and instinctively to protect the civilians.

“It was very fortunate you were there,” she said with no trace of mockery.

“This was a brutal first test for the recruits. They did well. Few casualties amongst our own soldiers, a miracle given we were caught unprepared.”

“And the refugees?”

“All safe. And in a secure shelter until they can be escorted to Haven.”

Evelyn was silent for a time, but he could see her chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. “It was templars, wasn’t it? That you fought?” She raised her chin and gave him a direct look which he met unflinchingly.

“Yes.” Evelyn waited for him to say more and when he didn’t, she dropped her gaze and lightly touched his abdomen with the pads of her fingers. He shuddered and she quickly withdrew her hands.

“Pain?”

“Cold,” he admitted and she laughed lightly.

“Sorry. The wind is still pretty brisk out there.” Evelyn huffed air into her cupped palms then rubbed her hands together theatrically for his benefit. She gingerly lay her palm against his abdomen again and checked his face for a reaction. When there was none, she left it resting there and asked: “Is it okay if I just see what is going on? This is purely investigative. I’m ignoring your arm for a moment as Mother Giselle said you may have broken ribs. The scratch isn’t too bad but I’m worried about what is going on in here.” At that final statement she patted his torso lightly.

Cullen felt self-conscious under her searching gaze, as if she could read his mind and knew how reluctant he had been to receive aid from a mage. “Of course.”

Consent granted, her eyes fluttered closed and he saw her chest rise and fall as she inhaled and exhaled with measured slowness. The bourgeoning warmth of her magic was in direct contrast to the coldness of her hands and once he overcame the strange, almost fizzing sensation of it, it was not unpleasant. He watched her face as her palm brushed searchingly over his skin. It was rare he had a chance to actually look at her for any length of time. Usually she was in motion: hurrying from one place to the next. And when she was still and across the table, or standing beside him in the snow watching training drills, he couldn’t seem to make himself maintain eye contact for too long, busying himself with papers, or stepping into the fray to correct a soldier’s footing and grip.

Now her expression was calm: it was almost as if she was meditating, her lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, her lips barely open.

She was beautiful.

The thought came unbidden into his head, though he had long known it and had tried futilely to ignore it. Cullen felt a heat rising up his neck that had nothing to do with the warmth of her magic.

Her brows furrowed and a moment later there was a twinge of pain prompting Cullen to flinch. “Sorry. That was clumsy,” she said breathlessly, her eyes still closed. “Okay?”

“Yes. Are you?” He watched a faint smile form on her face. Her eyes opened slowly and she pulled her hand away.

“I did warn you that I’m not a healer.”

“It’s fine. I barely felt it.”

“You’re being polite. I’m sorry you got lumped with me,” she teased, her voice warm and her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “I’m the best of a bad bunch.”

Cullen swallowed. He was glad. He was glad, of anyone, that it was her. He could hardly tell her as much however and instead said drily: “I’m confident at least, that you won’t make it any worse.”

Evelyn blinked at him and then he laughed when she did, though it was painful to do so. “Such faith,” she said with a cluck of her tongue and began to rewrap the bandage, more firmly and confidently than it had been done previously. “I haven’t done _anything_ yet. Just looked. And no fractured ribs, just bruised. Sleep on your back and keep the cut clean. It doesn’t seem like it will need stiches.” Evelyn grimaced. “Now for the tricky bit.” She stood up and moved to sit on the other side of him, being careful not to jostle his useless arm as she did. After surveying it for a moment she asked: “Isn’t this your sword arm?”

“Yes."

"Didn't that rather complicate matters?"

"I had to go on fighting with my nondominant hand.”

“Can you do that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Evidently. At least adequately enough to keep myself alive.”

Evelyn looked sheepish. “I didn’t phrase that well. I meant do you train for that situation?”

“Yes.”

"You really plan for everything, don't you?"

"I try to."

“So what about if both arms are out of action?”

“Then I pick up my sword with my teeth," he told her, completely deadpan.

She looked at him in disbelief for a moment then noticed his growing smirk and laughed. "How is it I keep forgetting?"

"Forgetting what?"

"How funny you are," she said warmly and he cleared his throat and surveyed the ceiling if the tent. "So what happened here?” she asked, pointing at his mangled arm.

Reluctant to relive the details of the fight, he settled on the most simple version of events: “I got knocked down and it got stepped on. They were wearing armour and I was not.”

Evelyn grimaced. “Templar armour looks heavy.”

“It is,” he confirmed wryly and they shared an embarrassed look then simultaneously averted their eyes.

Evelyn cleared her throat. “Probably best to just get straight into it.”

“Very well.”

“Strike while the iron is hot.”

“As you say.”

She rolled her shoulders and tipped her head from side to side to stretch her neck. “Grab the old druffalo by his horns.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “Is there a reason you’re delaying?”

Her lips tightened to a thin line. “It might hurt.”

“Then I am prepared.”

“Have you eaten recently? You don’t strike me as a fainter but you never know.”

“I have.”

“Maybe you should lie down.”

He felt exposed and vulnerable enough as it was. “I’d rather sit.”

Evelyn gave him the barest of nods then reached a tremoring hand towards him which Cullen noticed with concern before she quickly withdrew it to hide the shake, balling her fists together in her lap. Her mouth twisted anxiously downwards. “I need to knit the pieces of bone together. I’ll provide relief as I go but if it was crushed there might be shards and …I can’t promise it won’t be painful.”

“I understand,” he said, but his response was too brief, and came out too stoically to reassure her. He had not intended it to be so. After a pause, he tried again: “I trust you to do this.”

Evelyn looked up at him with something like startled disbelief. He met her eye calmly and she finally broke into an unexpected grin. “As long as you know I’m not hurting you on purpose, then hopefully we’ll stay friends after this.”

It was his turn to look surprised, though she missed it having already returned her concentration to his arm. He wasn’t aware they were friends…It must have been a quip. Yes. Surely. That was the only explanation. As ever he would be a fool to take her seriously: the woman only ever spoke in jest.

Evelyn let out a measured breath through pursed lips. He could see resolve return to her, her expression growing focused and her posture straightening with confidence.

She hadn’t been exaggerating. It really did _hurt_. Nothing compared to when the injury was inflicted, and nothing he couldn’t overcome with some deep breathing and his other hand gripping the edge of the camp bed, but it was not a pleasant process. He could hardly resent this however, when the occasional sharp stabs of discomfort were the exception, not the rule, and he could see beads perspiration forming on her brow from the effort she was clearly putting in to mending the injury and dulling his pain. Her eyes were closed as before, but this time a knot had formed between her brows and her lips moved as if she was giving herself silent instructions.

It took some time. The candles burned low and dimmed, the pale blue glow of her magic providing much of the light until that too faded. Evelyn leaned back and let out a shaky sigh, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and smiling at him in relief.

“Didn’t hurt at all,” he lied and she tipped her head back and let out an exasperated laugh.

“It was a complete mess.” She lightly brushed her fingertips once more down the length of his forearm raising goose-bumps in their wake, the gentle touch making his mind go temporarily blank and the ocean roar in his ears. Thankfully oblivious to this, Evelyn continued speaking: “But I think everything is back where it’s meant to be. Roughly anyway.”

“Roughly?” he asked with just a hint of genuine alarm as he wriggled his fingers experimentally, pleased to have use of them again.

She rubbed her eyes then pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’d recommend having it splinted too, and to wear it in a sling when you travel to help keep it still. Especially if you’re riding. Nature should do the rest. You’ll waving a sword about and poking people with it in no time.”

He sighed. “More like signing reports.”

“Josephine will be ecstatic to hear the happy news then.” She looked about the tent. “Were there more bandages? Mother Giselle must have them…?” she wondered aloud.

“Wait a moment,” he told her and she looked at him in confusion. “Just sit. I can see you’re fatigued.”

Her cheeks went noticeably pinker, even in the dim light. She tilted her head, smiling disarmingly at him and Cullen felt a rush of embarrassment. “I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you?”

“You’ll overexert yourself.”

She stood up despite him. “What an old fusspot you are. Quite the Mother Hen,” she teased and he let out a disgruntled noise of protest. “I’ll track down those bandages and send someone at least halfway competent to finish up.” She was at the tent flap and slipping back out into the night when she threw: “Get some rest and be more careful next time,” over her shoulder.

He had forgotten to thank her.

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to the people who have a user subscription for me for my Inquisition fics and have been getting my other updates. I’m sorry and this is for you!


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